Devi's Down Time
by Lito Kid Skullington
Summary: dead
1. Candles

Alright. First story in the Jhonen section, don't own any characters, blah blah blah. Be nice or whatever. You don't have to be. Open flames are accepted, who cares about the air.  
  
--~~*~~--  
  
Devi took in a deep breath, piercing green eyes slowly scanning her surroundings. All around her, the sights and sounds of a busy mall pulsed, people scurrying from shop to shop, too wrapped up in their own selfish desires to notice much more than their next destination. She was mildly relieved to see that the people walked right by her, none of them pausing for even a second glance. That was good. She didn't really feel like being noticed at the moment. Not outside the Bath and Body Works store.  
  
Slowly, she exhaled, returning her gaze back to the glass door of the little shop. Turning the collar of her brown trench coat up around her chin, she pressed a deathly pale hand to the brass handle, and entered.  
  
As soon as she stepped through that doorway, a tiny bell tinkling overhead, the tortured artist was nearly blown right back out. Never before had her nose been bombarded with so many strong scents at once. It was a wave of what was supposed to be sweet-smelling fragrances, but combined together to form one huge stink, it might as well have been poison fumes.  
  
She gagged, a thin hand flying to her nose in a vain attempt to shield it from any further damage by the terrible stench of the store. She could now see why customers were so scarce.  
  
Devi gave a desperate glance around the room, her eyes scanning feverishly for the product she desired. She wanted oh so desperately to just find it and leave. Run far, far away from this stinky nightmare.  
  
Her darkly outlined eyes finally settled on a large candle display in the back corners of the brightly lit room. Letting out a whoop of triumph, she briskly trotted over to it, sidestepping frilly pink displays of shampoo and body wash.  
  
Devi wanted nothing more than to just escape from the horrible shop, and hope her nose hairs hadn't burned off. But, there were so many candles. Oh so many varying scents. Her mind was overwhelmed.  
  
"Lavender rose passion?" Devi read aloud, an eyebrow quirking in response, "Silky daisy wave?"  
  
She wanted none of these pastel floral scents! But that seemed to be all they had. Devi sighed, her mood dropping to a sudden low. She'd hoped to treat herself to a nice, relaxing bath that night. A soothingly warm bath, surrounded by candlelight and piano music. A sort of reward for making it through another shitty week.  
  
But if the only scents they possessed were frilly flower things, she might have to skip the candlelight. She didn't really want to relax in a room flooded with harsh, electric lighting. A warm, yellow glow only fire could create seemed like a wonderful addition to her special occasion. But she also didn't want to bathe in the nasty scents of the store. As she was doing now.  
  
She was about to leave, broken-spirited, when a certain wax cylinder caught her eye. Turning on her boot-clad heel, Devi strutted over to it. It was the deepest shade of blue you could create for a candle without making it one of those black, Satan-worshiping things. She scanned over the pastel blue label.  
  
"Midnight breeze."  
  
She felt a tingle at the simple, yet enchanting name of the smell. She'd always liked the night. The late hours were so calming, so peaceful. This was definitely the scent she needed to help her relax.  
  
Reaching back and plucking out a few more of the same smell, Devi turned and walked over to the cashier. She emptied her armful of candles gently onto the countertop, as if they were made of glass. The cashier gave her an odd glance at the tenderness she put into handling the wax things, but began to scan them nonetheless. A customer was a customer.  
  
"$12.95," he stated slowly, holding out a thin hand. Devi eagerly dropped a twenty into his waiting palm, practically bouncing in her impatience. She wanted to leave. Badly.  
  
Running a hand through his bleached-blonde spikes, the guy opened the cash register and began counting out her change. Slowly. As if he'd never past second grade. With his free hand, he carelessly knocked the candles into a plastic bag. Devi practically pounced on it, clutching the bottom so that the wax didn't hit the hard countertop and become dented or whatever.  
  
Gathering up the bag, she impatiently waited for her change. The cashier's nose was slightly wrinkled in the excruciating, brain meat-straining efforts it took to make change for a twenty. Slowly he pulled out a five. And then a one. And another one. And then a nickel. He slowly turned, and was about to drop it into Devi's quivering hand, but faltered.  
  
"Wait. Did you want this in bills, or loose change?" he asked. He almost turned back to the register to recount the money, but before he could, it was snatched fiercely from his hand.  
  
"I am not in the mood for this, you little teenage shit!" Devi screamed, expertly whirling around and making a mad dash for the door. "The smell of your fucking store is making me PMS!" she shrieked over her shoulder, receiving quite a lot of stares from nearby mall-goers. She tore out of that horrid place as fast as humanly possible, leaving the cliché dumbass teen bewildered and disturbed.  
  
--~~*~~--  
  
The ending was rushed, the poor stupid cashier underdeveloped. I could've done a lot more with his character, but I got lazy. Sorry it's so short, next chapter up soon.  
  
By the way, I've never been in a Bath and Body Works store. But I've glanced at them. *nods* They look scary. And if they're anything like the Forget-Me-Not place (horrible, horrible experience there. If a certain friend is reading (you know who you are) just shut up. Shut up.) then. . . yeah. Holy hell, that place is stinky.  
  
So, if you shop there frequently, let me know. How does it smell? Is it really as frilly as it looks at a glance? Do they even sell candles there? And how much are they? $12.95 has been stuck in my head all night/early morning, so I just put it down as that. *shrugs*  
  
And I have a horrible handle on the characters right now. They feel so foriegn to me. So, forgive me if some of this stuff isn't totally acurate. My comics are lost in the garbage dump that is my room. I have no idea if Devi really likes the night, or would even take a nice, relaxing bath. Dear god, I want to take one of those. Sounds so sofisticated, though. I'd probably go pyro with the therapy candles and burn down the bathroom.  
  
(ahem) Anyways. More later. Or, maybe soon. I dunno.  
  
Review. Or die. 


	2. Flowers

Heh. Here's the next chapter. It's probably gonna suck, because I have to rush through it. So, forgive any spelling or grammar-type errors. Eh.  
  
Oh, by the way, I thank my few (two) reviewers. I am keeping in mind what you said about Bath & Body. Maybe I'll fix the first chapter, some other time.  
  
--~~*~~--  
  
Johnny stared intently upon the colorful display of flowers set up before him, one of his dark eyes growing squinty with concentration. The tip of his tongue made itself known through the corner of his mouth, and a painfully thin hand darted out to examine a certain flower's petals. Slowly, he drew it back.  
  
/Oh, what kind of flowers do you give a girl as an apology for attempting to murder her?/ he wondered, squeezing the other eye shut and letting out a soft wail of confusion.  
  
The floral vender was watching him, a look of impatience and disgust playing across his haggard features.  
  
"It ain't that hard to pick, buddy," the man said, glaring at the distressed maniac, "A damn flower is a damn flower. Why are you takin' so fucking long?"  
  
Johnny's eyes flashed open, a dangerous spark burning within them. It was a look of utter hatred. But somehow Nny managed to bite down his homicidal urges, reaching for a random plant instead of the blade hidden in his coat.  
  
"Could you help me, sir?" he asked stiffly, his voice a cheerful strain. "See, there's this girl, and--!"  
  
The middle-aged man was fuming. He reached over and plucked out a little potted shrub. "Get her one of these, and beat it, fag." he said, tossing the plant at Johnny.  
  
The psychopath's eyes went dark with pure sadistic hatred, the potted plant flying past him and crashing to the ground beyond, unnoticed.  
  
"You scum," he hissed, "Don't you ever take time out of your busy schedule of conceited, self-serving actions to help another in need? Do you think you're the only one who has wants? Desires? Dreams?"  
  
The grey-haired man was about to make a biting comeback, but the sight of a long, glistening silver blade being drawn from his customer's pocket silenced him. His dirty hazel eyes went wide as saucers behind the thin- rimmed glasses, and he took a hesitant step back.  
  
"You think the whole world revolves around you, don't you? Every customer who comes here, looking to buy is just another spork in your ass, aren't they? You don't really want to sell flowers. You hate this job. And you take it out on your customers. Because misery loves company."  
  
Johnny had slowly, steadily advanced, an eerie sort of liquid grace contained in his every step. The man had unknowingly pinned himself against a wall, and he desperately glanced around for assistance. But the street was deserted.  
  
"P-please! Just leave me alone! I don't want any trouble!" he cried, bring his hands up to shield his face.  
  
Johnny scoffed. "Aw, now you're pleading for your life. Now you feel sorry for what you've done." He narrowed his eyes, dark and sunken from lack of sleep. "This is why you think before you speak. Don't say things you don't mean. If you really don't want trouble, try biting your tongue sometimes."  
  
The floral vender's eyes widened even more, before they screwed shut with pain. A gurgling wail escaped his throat, arms and legs flailing blindly.  
  
Johnny sadistically twisted the blade, which was buried deep within the crook of the guy's neck. Blood was squirting everywhere, as he had punctured a thick vein. Swiftly, he drew the blade from the man's throat, only to stab it deep into his ear canal.  
  
The man let out a shriek of pain, somewhat dulled in intensity due to the huge wound in his neck. He felt the blade being snatched from his ear, and his hands darted up in a weak attempt to shield it from another blow. He only succeeded in getting his fingers stabbed into his ear as well.  
  
"All I asked for was a bit of assistance for picking out a flower for this girl," Johnny shouted above the man's gurgled screams, "Why must you all look down on me like I'm a little dog shit on your lawn, when you are the one that is the scum?"  
  
He again drew the knife from the man's ear, surveying the damage. His sharp stab hand succeeded in hacking off his pointer finger, which was bent at an odd angle and forced inside the ear, twisted and deformed from the blow. Blood leaked vividly from the wound, trickling down the man's chin and joining the blood spraying from the punctured vein in his neck.  
  
Hacking up crimson-colored saliva, the man hunched over and wailed, a gurgled sound distored by the mass amount of blood flooding his lungs.  
  
Through the muffled shrieks, Johnny recognized two words.  
  
"I'm. . . sorry. . ."  
  
The maniac scowled. "Will you watch what you say from now on?" he ventured, staring down on the bleeding man with obvious disgust. The man nodded rapidly, moaning wetly through his pain.  
  
A huge, maniacal smile split across Johnny's face. "Yay! You're a new man now!" He cried happily, clasping his hands together. "I don't have to teach you any more." The bloodied knife was returned to his pocket.  
  
He grinned brightly down on the agony-sticken man, who was about to kill over from blood loss at any given moment. "Show me your happy face!" the psychopath prodded, hands folding neatly behind his back.  
  
The man stiffly raised his head, eyes becoming clouded with his rapidly approaching death. But through his pain, he managed to crack a pain-filled smile up to his murderer, who gave a girlish, "squee!" in response.  
  
"Aw, yay! Now you aren't acting like you have a metal rod up your ass anymore!" Johnny paused, bringing up a skeletal hand to rub against his chin. "Maybe I should consider a career in psychology. . ."  
  
The man was about to bite it, but he still mananged a warbled courtesy laugh. Might as well leave on good terms with his killer.  
  
A sudden cloud of anger crossed over Johnny's face. "I wasn't trying to be funny!" he screamed, redrawing his blade and burying it deep into the man's skull. He instantly died. He had been about to kill over, anyways.  
  
There was a brief pause, in which an author-created clap of thunder sounded overhead. As rain began to sprinkle from the dark clouds, Johnny let out a wistful sigh.  
  
"Aw, fuck. I forgot to ask which flower I should choose."  
  
--~~*~~--  
  
Heh. Now, wasn't that an awful murder scene? I need to stop rushing through chapters. But, I have a jam session-type-thing in, like ten minutes, and I can't afford to miss another one. So, I apologize. Next chapter, I will take my time! Just for you guys. Yay. Feel all loved.  
  
I really need to start developing my original characters. They really suck. ^^  
  
Review. Or die. 


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